


That Fire

by Anonymous



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Intercrural Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 15:45:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6572137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lavellan and the Iron Bull are always left behind to guard the kill when a dragon falls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sumi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sumi/gifts).



Lavellan waits until she can no longer see their backs through the trees. It is not a patient waiting but she bears it under the weight of necessity, cleaning her knives with shaking fingers, blood pounding in her ears. Clean now, her knives, blood long gone under the swipe of the cloth, but her hands can't still. They move mechanically, turning the blades, busy work. Two to return to camp, two to watch over the kill; two to pretend they know nothing of what two will be doing in their absence.

One more step, and Dorian and Cassandra disappear into the forest.

She is on him in a moment, a few quick strides to where he sits in the dry grass, fingers now already pulling at straps and buckles. The knives are carefully laid on the ground beneath her bare feet, secure in their sheathes, but the armor is discarded. Piece by piece it drops to the meadow, left to lie where it falls in her haste to free herself. To stand naked before this man, to feel the sweat and grime of his skin against her own.

The Iron Bull is a magnificent man. Everything about him speaks this truth; the wide span of his horns, the strength of his broad shoulders, the boom of his voice. The way he moves in battle, moved in _this_ battle, raw power and overwhelming force. Ancient dragon's blood to slay a dragon, shouting his pleasure as the beast finally fell to the ground. Breathing heavily still, from the fight and now, perhaps, at the sight of her, bare beneath the sunny sky.

They share it between them, the hunger. It sang in her blood as she twisted and ran, darted under pounding wings and snapping teeth to stab and slash. It sings in her now, pulsing from the center of her being out to the very tips of her fingers and toes. Pounding within her to warm her cheeks, to tighten her nipples and dampen her sex as she stares down at him, seeing the echo of her own hunger in his hooded eye.

" _Kadan_ ," he says, but no more.

A sharp tug of her hips and she's sprawled on top of him, his hand tangled in her hair. Pulling, not kindly, little pinpricks of pain along her scalp as he buries his mouth between her breasts, biting and suckling.

His stubble rasps against the delicate skin there, near unbearable while her skin still sparks and echoes with the glory of the kill. Scarred lips brushing over her heart, where the blood yet pounds. Lavellan gasps as he moves beyond to claim a nipple, rolling the bud harshly between sealed lips. Rough, dull ache and then relief, that wide clever mouth moving to engulf her. Bull sucks, strong and steady, but in kindness; with every pull the cruelty of his tongue is magnified, flicking and darting over her oversensitive skin until she's grinding her hips against him, moaning and writhing against his bulk.

Marking him. 

Another sharp tug and she finds herself twisted, bent. He gathers up her wrists in one massive hand and pulls her arms back, forcing her back into an arch that sends her muscles complaining, a delicious stretch. Bull grabs her hips and shifts her forward, sliding over his massive chest until her legs slip over his horns, her thighs bracketing his head.

He devours her like a man starving, his broad tongue lapping at her slit, mouth suckling at her lips. Groaning, grunting, loudly approving as he buries himself between her legs. His free hand on her ass, kneading, fingers digging into the muscle there until it aches.

Starving, the Bull, but as a starving man at a feast, laid in tribute. No lover before has ever neglected her pleasure, but when his mouth is on her it becomes more than pleasure. Gluttony, the wet, satisfied sounds he makes, and today he is as rough and relentless in his consumption of her as any other act. Wet, heavy licks between her lips, the flat of his tongue strong pressure against her hood, stroking deeply just the way she needs. Maddeningly direct, almost too much but she cannot tear away, held securely in his grip.

Her back burns at the stretch but he doesn't relent, pulling her arms until she thinks she might break, tightens her thighs around his head. Every muscle tight and straining, her stomach like a plank as she struggles to stay upright against the assault of his tongue. She wants to break free, grab his horns and ride him, grind herself into his mouth.

He thrusts his tongue into her cunt and brings his hand down on her flank, hard, laughing as she tightens around him. Everything aches, pulled taut, and she cannot tell now what is from the fight, and what is from him.

Her peak is a fire sweeping through her entire body, explosions behind her eyes. Everything is thrown into wondrous detail, the sun on her skin and the ache in her back as she tenses, releases, tenses again, flooded with warmth. Bull shifts below her, wet mouth dragging to the side to nuzzle into her thigh before he rolls her off entirely.

The dragon lays before them, glorious even in her stillness. Lavellan knows what he wants, rises to her knees even as Bull unfastens his belt and shucks off his trousers behind her. He is large and solid as he kneels behind her, his chest pressed sweat-sticky against her back, his cock hard and hot as he slides it against her. He groans, low and deep, as it slips between her tightly pressed thighs.

The first thrust is slow, careful, aided only by spit and sweat, but he soon speeds. His mouth has done its work well and she can feel how slick he's left her, the way he slides easily between the flesh of her legs as her wetness spreads along the length of his cock. Her lower lips part around him, enfolding him, guiding him over the center of her pleasure again and again. They are perfectly made for this, his size not an obstacle but a boon - he needs no ropes here in the field, no intricate Orlesian pleasure devices. Only his hands, calloused and scarred; restraint enough that she is helpless under their grip all the same. 

He wraps one great arm around her chest, crushing her against him, his breath hot and heavy. He bites, nips, at the tips of her pointed ears, sucks marks on her neck. Buries his head against her shoulder. Her whole body moves with his motion, rocking back and forth as she fixes her eyes on the dragon's corpse.

She can feel the rough, prickly grass under her knees as he thrusts between her legs, his grip on her hips bruising. He slides in between her thighs quickly now, without resistance. Every inch of him hard against her, back and forth, and she grinds herself against his cock unabashedly. Fingers scrabbling, scratching against his arm, dragging down so she can hear his hiss in the furrows she makes.

Another peak, not an explosion this time but a wave, rolling through her. It doesn't stop, just keeps going, rising and falling until she shouts, until she's lost what little voice the fight left her.

She wraps her hands around the head of his cock as it emerges from between her thighs and he comes with a few more jagged thrusts, spurting into the grass before them. Her eyes on his clenched jaw in profile. His eyes on the dragon. 

Her glorious one.

Draped over him as they come down, her thighs slick, sliding obscenely against his own between them. His soft cock pressed sticky against her leg. They're filthy, covered in blood, their own and the dragon's, and sweat and the dirt from the meadow. She can smell them, smell the fight and the fuck on them, heavy and dark and raw. The others will smell it too, she knows. There are few secrets in the camp.

" _Ma vhenan_ ," she says, smiling against his broad chest, but then no more.


End file.
